Legacy of a Demigod that No One Ever Notices
by Lightning Oz
Summary: "What am I doing? Gods&titans shouldn't be real. Maybe I'm going crazy. I don't know what Kronos wants from me if he's 'trying' not to kill me. I'm tired of the cryptic warnings&visions. I need answers. I need to know who I really am. What am I supposed to be? Something else is happening. No one notices it, but I do. My name is Troy. This is my story." PLEASE R&R, give it a chance!
1. It Started Out Like This

**This was my very first Fanfic idea when I first signed up. It was actually published on Nov. 15, 2010, but I kept rewriting it and going into hiatus because of school. I'm still trying to think of a better title. Sorry if you don't like the summary; I'm not great at summaries, so please be fair. And actually try to READ this chapter besides passing through or whatever. That kinda sucks when people do that. It's very hard for me to get readers and reviews and so on. There's going to be a lot of action on this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: It's pretty obvious that I don't own the Percy Jackson series**

_*Story is a little before _Battle of the Labyrinth, _but will be set between the 4th book and _The Last Olympian_ soon_. _I'm trying to make it flow with the timeline (PJO & HoO)*_

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**It started out like this...**

_**May 23**_

Here's me right now: I'm on a 6-hour plane flight, and I want to sleep, but I can't get myself to sleep right now, so this would be a good time to write on my untouched journal. I promised my friend that I would, and she knows I don't like to write very much.

For anyone who manages to find my journal, _give me a chance_. I'm not sure why I'm going to write this, but hear me out.

This will sound like fiction to you, which I'd be glad for you to think so because you might have less craziness in life. But I'm being very honest here. It's not a joke. This is for venting out my thoughts; that's what journals and diaries are for, right? I can't think of any other way for me to do that.

I still have a half a dozen more hours before my first stop, so I'll start what happened about a month ago. I think I blew up the top of the Seattle Space Needle – by accident, of course.

My dream scared the hell out of me that night, as well as confused me. I don't usually sleep before midnight, but I think I had a very off day that time. I can't remember why. Maybe a bad headache...? Yeah, I can't remember.

In my dream, I was standing in the middle of an empty intersection, and I couldn't see any street signs. I think I was in a downtown. There were trees planted on the sidewalks along all for cardinal directions of the intersection, but behind me had trees that looked like it was a miniature forest.

The rain and thunder stopped, causing dead silence. Not a single person was outside. The pavement felt rough like sandpaper or needles of ice trying to pierce through my soles. The buildings and stores did not show any sign of light and no cars were around.

When I took one single step, random symbols and shapes in different sizes appeared – written on the street, sidewalks, and walls. Even the trashcans and stop signs looked tagged. They looked like they were written in glowing red paint. I hoped it was paint. And all of them were blurry; I couldn't make out what they looked like clearly. The symbols even appeared on my arms and legs for a moment, practically trying to burn in my skin.

Out of nowhere, a blast of lightning exploded right in front of me, and I found myself on my back feeling sore from parts of my body that I didn't know could get sore. Were dreams supposed to hurt this much? I'm pretty sure they weren't. I wanted to just keep sleeping, nothing else. I hadn't been sleeping well lately, and I still haven't.

Suddenly the ground under me began to shake and a small fissure appeared on the pavement. My curiosity can be a little stupid sometimes. When I crawled closer to the large fracture, black and gold flaming tendrils burst out, almost an inch away from my nose. A guttural chuckle echoed at every direction, but I was pretty sure that didn't come from the sewers. It felt like it was _way_ underground.

The ground began to shudder again.

Something was trying to kill me. I knew it. Somehow, I had a feeling this happened to me before. I ran to the opposite direction. Going to an alley wouldn't be the brightest idea for a hideout when you're being chased by god-knows-what hunting you down.

After a few minutes of running like hell, which was faster than I could do in P.E., I collapsed near a round fountain that was adjacent (is that the right word?) to another intersection. I actually recognized where I was this time. It was Tilikum Place, where a few small businesses and cafes were. I've only been there a couple of times. You can actually see the Space Needle from there.

I was sitting in front of a statue that was in the middle of the fountain on a pedestal taller than me. It was the only thing that wasn't marked with symbols. I think it was made out of bronze or something. It was a statue of a Native American old man who almost reminded me of Yoda. He was stretching up his arm as if reaching for the stars or the moon. The plaque on the side said SEATTLE CHIEF OF THE SUQUAMISH, so I guess that was him, the statue.

The Space Needle was at the background of the statue. From the angle I was at, the statue looked like it was trying to grab the tip of the Space Needle. The old chief's hand glowed faintly indigo because I thought it was from the Needle's light. When I looked more carefully, I noticed something was on the hand, and it was glowing brighter than the Needle.

I don't know how it got there, or why I was dreaming about this. If this wasn't a dream, I wouldn't climb up on the statue 'cause I'd get in trouble, if anyone was around to catch me.

So...yeah. I went up on the pedestal, and then to the statue, which wasn't very tall, thank god, while apologizing for putting my armpit on its face.

When I grabbed the object off its hand, I slipped off the statue and landed on my back. No, I wasn't intending to fall off like that.

The glow stopped when I opened my hand, and resting on my palm was a blunt ring. The entire band was black onyx, and it an almond-shaped white stone with a round light-blue diamond in the middle. It almost looked like an eye...

I tried to read what was etched along the sides, but the ring started glowing brightly and felt too hot against my skin. Then it fell right through my hand – literally _right through_ my hand – and vanished before it could hit the ground.

A whisper of a lady's voice spoke._ Not yet_, she said. All of this was getting way too confusing for me. Maybe something was supposed to happen later.

Suddenly, the ground began to shake again, and I fell on my ass.

From the intersection across from me, the pavement cracked up, and something-some sort of pillar-began to grow. I remembered what happened earlier and thought the worst was about to come.

However, instead of black and gold whips, there was a white stream of light shooting straight up from the fissure to the dark sky – think of the Luxor Hotel light when it appears in the sky, but a hundred times brighter.

After a minute passed, the earthquake stopped. I realized I had my eyes closed, so I opened them and squinted at what appeared in the middle of the intersection. A wide marble pedestal was planted in the pavement. The surface of it looked like it had two swirly wheels. The design looked familiar... Greek Ionic column, right?

I would've been blinded from the light if this wasn't a dream. There was some kind of radiation trying to slice through my skin. Somehow, I knew something was in that light, so I took a careful step forward.

When I stopped two meters away from the pedestal I heard a fainted voice, a different voice, echoing in my head again. _Do not be afraid_, it encouraged me.

I was actually very afraid. I didn't know what was going to happen.

After hesitating several seconds, I took in a deep breath and forced myself to move forward. A few blocks of stone shot up, creating a set of steps for me to climb. That didn't make me hesitate, and I just continued like it was a normal routine.

Once I stood in front of the light, I stretched my hand in, and the light began to fade until I could see what it was.

It was just a sword, stabbed against the top flat surface, standing perfectly straight. The blade was double-edged, deadly sharp, made of either silver or steel with shining wave texture. It had a little gold accent and the grip was black leather. Both sides of the blade had beveled grooves that reached halfway. One side had three small diamond studs about three inches apart from each other.

What caught my attention the most was the other side of the blade engraved with symbols: **ανάθεμα**

The symbols shifted around until it looked English, easier for me to read, unlike the other symbols marked everywhere. It translated, _Damned_, from what I can remember. The word started to blue and other words overlapped other words... I can't remember. It made my brain feel like mush, as if I was beaten by a sock full of pounds of butter blocks.

The lower diamond stud glowed when I touched the hilt, and the ground began to shake again. I fell off the column, which disintegrated into dust. I managed to grab the sword on time. It was lighter than I expected, like holding an average pen.

A blinding spotlight showered over me, and I quickly shut my eyes. My weight felt lighter for a few seconds until my feet touched a surface. I nearly staggered by the view.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself on the edge of slightly slanted, saucer-like roof, about six hundred feet higher than the streets, more than I'm used to. I was surprised that I was still sort of standing there, despite the rushing wind.

The Seattle Space Needle looked higher than I imagined. I noticed lightning appeared in the sky. Somehow, the storm was getting more aggressive, impossibly almost shaking the whole tower. Dark heavy clouds began to gather, lightning bolts snapping along as the night sky disappeared. I think it's a bad sign if the lightning was _red._

I noticed something was floating near the tip of the pole. All I remember that it was glowing very bright blue. _The ring_, I thought. My gut told me I had to get it before it was too late. I forced myself to ignore the repeated warning from earlier._  
_

The sword, which was still in my hand, shuddered and glowed very warm against my skin that I could see the light through the back of my hand. The air turned very cold. I turned around.

I noticed a few things too unusual for reality: 1) my shadow was fading away under my feet very fast; and 2) five large, jet-black circles appeared aligned on the surface in front of me.

Before I could take one step back, five circles formed and shot up into solid human-like figures; actually, they looked more like _disfigured_ human-like figures. They were about my height, about 5-foot-2 inches, or slightly taller than that and their entire body was inky black. Some of their body parts had galaxy-like swirls. No face at all. They were hunched in awkward forms, and their arms were dripping onto the floor – literally. They almost looked like shadow zombies that were stretched in a taffy machine soaked in black ink.

One of the shadows bellowed an ear-piercing mixed screech-roar and all five charged at me with great agility. I thought I was dead because I didn't know how to fight these things. But something I thought was really cool happened to me.

The sword, which felt like it was glued to my hand, nearly dragged me toward the shadows, and when one leaped in the air the sword slashed the shadow blob before it could pounce me. My eyes were closed when that happened, but when I opened it, the blob was gone.

The rest of them hesitated, but they stormed in. It felt like hours fighting them off – the sword did most of the work. I kicked one of them over the edge. When there was only one left, I saw a blood-red light glowing bright along the torch poles, brighter than the beacon light.

_Wasn't it blue earlier?_ I wondered.

The shadow had its back facing the beacon, and it was pretty high for me to climb. Before it pounced, I ran toward the monster, jumped, and pushed my feet off the monster's head like a springboard. I'm sure I can't do that in real life; I'd probably trip and land on my face, and that wouldn't be the first time, too.

I didn't think I'd make it. What I remember was feeling the air actually pushing behind me or trying to pull me up and I tumbled over the railing. I thought the creature was too short to follow me or something.

Boy, I was wrong. There wasn't _one, _anymore. When I looked back, dozens of shadow creatures surrounded below me – some tall or short, and big or small, some longer with claws...well, all of them seemed to have claws.

I thought, _Well, crap, I'm already dead._

They formed a weird pyramid ladder, kind of like evil disfigured cheerleaders. I remember a shearing pain from my back – three claw marks slashed from a single, fatal blow. It felt so real, worse than scraping both of my knees on pavement.

The thought of a lot of my own blood running down my back made me nauseous. More seemed to appear every time I hack back and throw them away, like a hydra growing back a two more heads.

Climbing up a ladder 600 feet off solid ground was the issue. There was a ladder along the Needle's torch, but it was pretty thin. If I made one misstep, my brain would spread across the pavement. But I took the risk.

My ankles and legs were tugged down on the way several times. The sword would whip below on its own will, which was great, expect there were many times when I nearly lost my grip from the manhandling – or sword-handling. Whatever.

Thunder harshly shook the sky. A few shadows actually lost their grip from and fell. I almost joined them. A lightning bolt barely missed me, and a ladder cord snapped. The remaining creatures sounded like they were cheering with a mix of upbeat growls and screeches – encouraging me to fall, no doubt.

I was able to pull myself up with all my strength and reach the top. It felt almost too easy.

But just when I could've grabbed it, flashes of lightning blinded me. My arms couldn't move. It felt like metal ribbons were binding me still.

There was another flash. Multiple lightning bolts danced around the Needle – around me. I felt the voltage running through my sword, and I flew back with a sonic boom.

Shards of glass showered over me. A bright crimson light burned my eyes.

_Yield! _was the last word I heard, from a very deep, metallic voice. A faint scream of a woman echoed through my thoughts, warning me that it was a trap.

My eyes closed.

I only saw darkness.

**~000000000~**

And so, I woke up in a small bedroom, lying on my twin-sized bed. Sweat ran down from my forehead and the back of my neck. I quietly left the room to the bathroom down the hall, trying not to step on the squeaky floor spots.

I removed my shirt to check my back after washing my face. The claw marks had disappeared. It was all a dream, of course...but the pain felt too real in my dream to thought so.

Before I went to the bathroom down the hall, a shadow appeared out of nowhere, which made me let out a quiet yelp. For a moment, I almost thought it was one of those zombie shadow creatures. But it was a little kid with curly hair I knew.

He was still sleepy, but he knew it was me. He asked if I was okay.

I wasn't sure how to answer that question. The answer _A big scary monster tried to eat me!_ would just sound ridiculous if a thirteen-and-a-half year-old (me) says that to a younger kid. So, I told him I just had a bad dream but I was okay.

"Are you sure?" Curly-head asked.

"Yeah," I insisted. "It was just a dream."

"Just a dream," he repeated quietly, but didn't sound convinced.

After telling him to go back to bed, I washed my face at the sink, then placed my hand against the bathroom mirror and stared at it. I still remembered the feeling when I held that sword, that power I felt – no, what the hell am I thinking?

I don't care about _power._ I know I don't. Power is not always good...right?

I found myself looking at my faded line scars on my forearm. I don't know how I got them. I was told I had an accident when I was younger and couldn't remember what happened. But all of those red glyphs from my dream...They looked like they _were_ written in blood. I'm kinda scared to think that it might be _my_ own blood.

I don't know why I wrote a lot. But I'm kind of glad I let it out finally. It all sounded like fiction, and believe me, I wish it was fiction – a _fairytale_. Just a dream...

For some reason, I have a feeling something's going to happen soon. That didn't feel like a normal dream – more like a _warning_. It's still not very clear to me. Whatever it is, I know I'll be the one who caused the problem.

Something big is going to happen. My life's going to change a lot – I just know it.

But why?

_Wish me luck (if I ever get any)_  
_T._

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**If anyone actually even finished reading this chapter, please review, let me know what you think, support me, etc. Also, I don't accept negative comments.**

**This story is mostly going to have OCs. A few canons will appear maybe or be mentioned in the future. You guys already read Percy's story, so PLEASE give Troy's (my) story a chance. I've been doing tons of research to help me build this story and trying to come up with original ideas, which is NOT very easy to do for me.**


	2. I Beat Up a Music Teacher

**Well, I expected not many people will actually read my story. That kinda sucks when people don't read it. Anyway, I just finished reading "House of Hades" today after 4 days (got it on Thanksgiving! :D) and it's so EPIC. I can't wait for Book 5!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own bull...**

**Rated T for minor language and violence**

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**This journal belongs to:  
TROY **

It's been about a week since my last entry, and I just realized I forgot to put my name on this journal since she gave it to me. You know, so I know that's my stuff, something like that. Well, it doesn't have the "This journal belongs to blah-blah-blah" thing anywhere, so...yeah.

So there. That'll do, I guess.

**~0000000~**

Being adopted feels weird. I don't know; I guess it's just me. Maybe I'm not sure what to think of this new family yet. They're sort of... odd? Yeah, they're pretty odd. Hard to explain why, but I just keep getting this weird vibe...

I'm actually starting to miss Washington State. I grew up in Olympia all my life – or most of my life that I can remember.

I don't know if that made any sense, but it makes sense in my head.

I was about 5 years old when I woke up in a hospital room. Some people can remember their toddler years, but I can't. I don't remember what I was doing before being in the hospital. They waited for someone to pick me up or something, but no one showed up. Social service was called. They assumed I was abandoned.

It wasn't like they didn't try to find any relatives of mine. As far as I know, I have none. Getting info from a 5 year-old kid isn't actually easy, especially from me. The only thing they got from me was a letter on a bracelet (which I turned into a necklace) – a leather cord, and a stone washer-shape pendant engraved with _In_ _Lacrimis Fortitudo_.

They actually had to make up a name for me to create some documents. My social worker, Mike Wan, told me when he first met me in the hospital, I was distracted with a coloring book of the Trojan War (yes, they actually make those), and that's how they named me Troy.

I'm not sure if what they did was legal or not. I don't understand how the social service agency thing works.

The dream from my last entry occur a couple of weeks after living in a new foster home. The foster family was...decent, I guess. I lived with them for almost two months – the second-longest time I had lived with a foster family. The other foster family before them was much better until I screwed up everything – no, can't talk about that right now.

Well, I didn't exactly act normal after that dream. I snapped a few times, acted more defensive than usually. One time, I slam a locker door on a jerk's face. He got a nosebleed and missing tooth. That earned me a one-day suspension.

The jerk tried to slap a "Kick Me" sign on my back. Maybe I did overdo it a bit. I just don't like it when people touch me, even if it's just a simple pat on the shoulder. I don't know why.

And I lied about my foster family being "decent". They were just...eh. The dad was a jerk sometimes, made harsh remarks, and overreacted negatively. I lived with worse before, so he was tolerable to stand.

However, his son…well, that's a different matter for me.

Clyde – I hated his guts. Seriously, who the heck would name their kid after a _criminal?_ I first met him on the first week since moving in. At first, I thought he was kind of cool, because he was a couple of years older than me and in high school, which probably meant more experience in life. I was wrong. The guy was lame and a douche. One time, he brought me to his friend's party, but I walked out five minutes later because people were getting drunk or high, which is _not_ my style; and then I saw him picking on the curly-haired kid, the one I mentioned from my first entry. His name's Rex, Clyde's little brother, about ten years old. Clyde and his friends were bullying him because of his name and other stuff I can't repeat, so I did the one thing that most people wouldn't do – I defended Rex.

I won't say a lot of details on what happened, but it involves a pile of dog-turd. Clyde and his buddies hated me after that. I'm sure he still hates me even after I just left - especially after what happened.

**~0000000~**

I was in the 8th grade. I attended this middle school that had a simple uniform code – slacks or jeans and any solid color polo shirts, except red (I don't know why it's against red). It was Mid-May, last week of school, which also included final exams. Can't say I did awesome on it, but hopefully decent.

During the last few days, things were sort of...odd. One day, I found an owl sitting on top of my foster dad's station wagon and staring me with a strict look; this weird Chihuahua followed me halfway to school before a Greyhound chased it away; and a small group of teen girls were swimming in the park pond while I was walking over the bridge – and while I was walking over the park bridge, a small group of teen girls were swimming in the park pond – and they were swimming in their _clothes_, like T-shirts and jeans, whatever. I think one of them waved and winked at me.

The day was weirder than usual. Then weirder turned into _bad_.

There was the substitute teacher, Mr. Brunner. He substituted for my English teacher, Ms. Luther, for about a month. I don't know why Ms. Luther left all of a sudden – something about taking an early vacation at a spa in some island (Hawaii, maybe?). That didn't bother me, because Brunner was pretty cool. Since the teacher didn't set up proper lesson plans during her absence, he substituted the class in his own way, and taught us mythology as our last lesson course of the school year with class games to go with it.

Brunner was the only teacher that caught my attention. I'm quite absent-minded occasionally.

English was my last class on the last day, and he set up the exams with mostly mythology stuff. He made sure if was cheating-proofed by setting up the questions randomly for everyone. I'm sure I got an average grade...or below average. Test taking isn't my strongest feat, next to running.

When it was less than fifteen minutes before school ended, I was the last person to finish the exam. It wasn't a surprise that I was last. I actually studied harder for this class, but words were scrambled everywhere in my brain, and I didn't sleep well last night again.

It didn't take long for Mr. Brunner to grade my test. When he put my papers with the other graded exams, he cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

He rolled out from behind the desk – because he was on a wheelchair – and positioned himself in the behind the whiteboard in the middle to face the class. "Well, the past one and a half months of teaching this class have been quite wonderful, more than I was expecting," he said. "Some of you actually did quite well on the exam. Others... tried their best."

Then a student let out an unsubtle cough: "Clayter-Tot!"

My ears burned as most of my dear classmates snickered at my nickname, which I don't like anymore. Sure, it was funny after a few times, but it got annoying afterwards.

Troy Clayton-Tate – yes, that's my name. It isn't exactly a very badass last name and I'm sort of embarrassed by it. And I like tater tots. . . . I used to smuggle them in classes and eat them without getting caught. So, yeah, I get hungry occasionally before and after lunch. There's nothing wrong with loving tater tots! They're cheap to buy.

Also, I'm kind of short of my age and a bit...roundish. It kind of makes a little sense.

Mr. Brunner shook his head in disapproval of the joke and waved his hand to get back their attention. "Hush now, quiet down," he chided. "Mr. Clayton-Tate has done well on his test. However, half of the class made errors on a couple of same questions."

A few students scoffed a little. Well, aren't I popular? (I'm being sarcastic here.)

"We all make mistakes in life," Mr. Brunner said. "I like to discuss a few things we've learned during my time here. A little pop quiz. I'll even give out pieces of candy as a reward."

Of course, bribing kids with candy always get their attention in class.

But I thought, _Uh-oh_, because he would usually (when no one would raise their hand) pick someone that didn't answer a question right instead of others that knew the answers. I'm hardly good at these things. I'd mostly choke out, or did educational guesses – if you count closing your eyes and randomly pointing at one of the choices with a pencil as "educational".

"The affairs of the Lord of Olympus, Zeus," Mr. Brunner said. "They were mainly part of his reputation, which is what you girls in this class should always be aware of about a boy." It was a joke. Almost everyone laughed, including me, and that made Brunner smiled a little. "Now...true or false? Zeus disguised himself as the husband of a mortal woman, who bore him twin sons."

He waited three long seconds for someone to raise their hand. I kept my head low. I was sure his eyes glanced my way, until he called someone who raised their hand.

"Yes, Roxanne?"

When I heard that name, I realized I never heard that name in this class before. But no one else seemed to notice that. I lifted up my head and found the girl lower her hand after she was called. She had dark-brown, shoulder length hair. I couldn't tell what else Roxanne looked like because she sat close to the front of the class while I was at the back.

"The answer's true," Roxanne whatever-her-surname-was stated. "If she gave birth to twins, that means they're both his children...right?"

Mr. Brunner smiled warmly including his eyes, which looked like he was hiding an inside joke, rubbing his beard. "That would be true, for most cases," he said. "However, you should know that the mortal woman I have mentioned was named Alcmene. Most of you should have remembered the description, as well as the names. Alcmene unknowingly had an affair with Zeus, who did, in fact, disguise himself as her husband Amphitryon, who shortly came back and, er, 'rested' with his wife. Therefore, the answer is false."

Then Mr. Brunner reached into a plastic bag on a stool, and tossed an Oreo cookie to the girl. "But kudos for trying.

"I only mentioned it once but talked little of it during a lecture, and I was expecting most of you took notes on the details. It's true that Alcmene _did_, in fact, give birth to twins – however, one child belonged to the god, and the other belonged to her husband..."

"Wait, twin _half_-brothers?" a random student questioned. "That can't be right. It's impossible!"

"No, not really," Mr. Brunner disagreed calmly. "It's not very common for twins to be half-siblings with different fathers, very rare for humans, in fact – but _not_ impossible. This is actually a famous origin story about a famous hero if you've forgotten. Always pay attention to as much detail as you can."

My classmates were muttering amongst themselves, about how weird the half-twin thing sounded, or something about also wanting an Oreo. I heard some of them mumbled that mythology had nothing to do in life.

I was mostly zoned out by then, and Mr. Brunner noticed.

"Troy," he said, startling me and causing me to sit up straight. "Iphicles – he had no divine blood, but his twin brother did. Who was his renowned half-brother? And please, stand up, so I can see you properly. No one mumble the answer to him! I can hear across rooms."

Reluctantly, I stood up from my desk quietly and started hesitating. I didn't like attention, knowing that many eyes were on me. It makes me nervous. I even noticed that girl, Roxanne, was staring at me in a calculating-way, which confused me – it was like she was waiting for me to do a back flip or something.

Luckily, I was saved by the bell in less than a minute. Almost everyone immediately headed for the exit excitedly as Mr. Brunner said farewell ("Have a good summer, and I hope you all survive high school!").

However, before I could make it through the door, Brunner said, "Wait, Troy, you haven't answer my question yet."

I stepped away from the door and followed him to his desk. That girl, Roxanne, stood outside the door for a moment before walking away when she met my eyes. Suspicious, I thought. I didn't recognize her face or her brown eyes, but something kept telling me that I should know her, like everyone else in the room. I didn't listen to that "something".

His tweed jacket smelled like coffee, with a strange mix of animal barn...I don't know why I noticed that.

I watched him pick up my exam paper from the top pile and placed in front of him before writing something down – my last name. I felt really embarrassed that I forgot to put my own last name.

Then he said, "I noticed you didn't seem to get the chance to answer two questions from the mythology section. The first question I discussed with the class is one of them, but you didn't answer most of the short-answer questions as well. Please, tell me – why did you not try to answer them?"

This was why I liked him better than my other teachers, including my past teachers. Mr. Brunner was more patient with me than anyone else (besides Mike, of course), and I understood that he was trying to make sure I do my best; but I feel like I'm sort of being pushed, like he was expecting me to work hard to that best level, whatever it was.

"Um," I started nervously, "I just don't know the answers. I forgot some of them, too. Even if I did try to answer, they'd mostly be wrong, anyway."

Mr. Brunner nodded sympathetically. "I see... I understand, don't worry. It's all right to fear of being wrong or making a mistake. Everyone feels that way occasionally."

I frowned a little, glancing at my sneakers. Honestly, I doubt myself a lot. I've been picked on, ignored, jumped at, etc. I'm not a very smart person, either.

Then Mr. Brunner said something that I won't forget (until I actually do forget, eventually): "Don't be afraid to trust your instincts, Troy. You _must_ try to trust them."

My face flushed. Trust _my_ instincts? I thought bitterly. I can barely trust myself with a butter knife... or hold my gas in public for long.

"You still haven't answered my question yet," Mr. Brunner told me.

I forgot what question he was talking about. "I haven't?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "Who was Iphicles's twin half-brother?"

Then, at an immediate second, I answered, "_Alcaeus_." I sounded a little different when I said it. Not sure. . . . It felt like I was saying something else, but I was sure that was the right answer – even though I had no idea who or what was "Alcaeus". Also, I couldn't remember anything about Iphicles.

Mr. Brunner looked at my patiently, but I noticed he lifted up his eyebrows with a subtle surprised look in his ancient eyes.

"Are you sure?" Mr. Brunner asked.

"I think so," I murmured uncertainly. That probably disappointed him a little, but I couldn't blame him.

But he smiled softly. "Alcaeus was his true name, by his parents. You know him as Heracles."

"Hercules?" I asked. "The son of Zeus?"

"_Heracles_," Mr. Brunner corrected. "That is his Greek name. Hercules is his Roman name."

"So...does that mean I answered it right? Alca-something?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes unreadable. "That is correct," Mr. Brunner said, and rewarded me with, not one, but _two_ Oreo cookies. "Remember what I said, Troy – instincts. Do not be afraid."

**~0000000~**

God damn, I hate that little – Ah! She-devil! Dang, my adopted family's daughter is just so...

Forget it. That won't help me sleep, especially in an empty apartment. Note to self: Do NOT eat leftover meatloaf alone, especially when I think the meatloaf actually _moved_ for a second earlier. I'm sure they'll be home soon – I think.

Anyway, back where I left off. This is where things got bad for me.

Right after I stepped out of the school building, finishing both of my Oreo cookies, I checked my pocket – and I mentally panicked.

_Shitty-shit!_ I wanted to yell.

I quickly reminded myself _not_ to panic too much, or else it would get worse.

My inhaler wasn't with me. I just replaced it, and I always made sure I had it. There weren't holes through my pants.

When a few more students exited through the metal double-doors, I slipped back inside the building as fast as I could. Doors were always locked from the outside, unless someone from the inside steps out.

The halls were almost bare. Several or so papers were scattered on the polished floor, a few people cleaning out their lockers. Every student had to leave the building within three minutes now. I hoped Mr. Brunner was still in the English classroom.

But I didn't make it to the classroom. I stopped on the first landing of the staircase and heard a faint basketball dribble sound. I think it was a basketball. Well, Mr. Brunner did tell me to try trusting my instincts. So, I followed the sound.

It led to the school gym. It was a basketball – duh, of course it would be in the gym. I didn't pass by another student or teacher on the way. The basketball dribble sounds was getting louder from 30 yards away from the half-opened doors, and they sounded more aggressive each time, as if someone was using cannonballs against a punching bag.

I wished that description wasn't close.

Peeking through the narrowed door window, I saw Flynn, the middle school bully who'd usually target at me, especially during P.E. dodgeball games. He was kind of lanky and tall guy, with freckles and sharp features, and had a very annoying personality. It was bad enough that he was a year younger than me. Flynn thought he was cool, which he was not, and would try to pull pranks on other students (mostly me), stuff people in lockers or trash bins (mostly me), and jump kids after school (again, mostly me). But why was he in the gym on the last day of the school year?

And why did he look like he was about to cry?

Let's be honest here: It's not very easy for everyone to have sympathy towards bullies. _I_ never thought I'd feel sorry for Flynn – _ever_.

While Flynn was exhaustively jogging around the gym's basketball court, someone launched a basketball at him, but it missed his arm by an inch and made him flinched.

That someone was Mr. Lyle, the music band teacher. I heard he was coaching the school's basketball team, which rarely won a game. Four ball racks were set up around him. He reached for another basketball.

Flynn stopped jogging after the ball bounced off his shoulder. His jersey was nearly soaked in his sweat, and his damped hair was practically glued to his face.

"Catch the ball, Flynn," Mr. Lyle snapped. "You're better than this!"

"Please, can we just stop?" Flynn pleaded. I _never_ heard him sounded like that before. "It's summer vacation..."

"That's not going to help you improve," the teacher said. He threw another ball at him, and Flynn tried to block it. "You're never gonna drop another ball again, you hear me? You just meet the ball, and catch it!"

Lyle stepped a little closer towards Flynn and threw a ball again. It sounded it was thrown harder than the last. He continued pelting him with more basketballs.

I couldn't keep watching this. As much as I wanted to see Flynn get a taste of his own medicine for once, _this_ was not what he deserved.

The next thing I knew, I had a basketball in my hand, and I aimed it at Mr. Lyle's head. Before they could react, I ran and jumped on Mr. Lyle's back.

"Go!" I shouted at Flynn.

Flynn looked as dazed as a deer staring at headlights, but he burst into a sprint and headed to the exit.

Mr. Lyle almost reminded me of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Band teachers are not supposed to be like body builders. He was flailing, trying to pull me off of his back. But I held on. He demanded why I was doing this; it was pretty obvious why. I had my arms tightly around his thick neck so I wouldn't fall off easily.

Soon, Mr. Lyle lost his balance from the basketballs on the floor and we crashed into one of the ball racks. I lost my hold when we landed. Before I could get up on my own, the music teacher picked me up and shoved me against the wall. I wasn't expecting a teacher would try to hurt me. My back was against the wall as he kept me pinned there. Then he grabbed my neck and his grip tightened slowly every second.

I immediately kicked between his legs. He pushed back, groaning painfully and covering his kicked groin. For a moment, I thought Mr. Lyle's eyes flickered bright red. Maybe it was my imagination or the bad ceiling lights.

But I took this advantage and jumped on his back again. Mr. Lyle staggered from my weight until he slammed head-on against a wall of closed bleachers. He collapsed to the floor and I fell with him.

Mr. Lyle was very much knocked out cold when I poked his face. There was blood on his nose from the impact, and his blood stained the closed bleacher wall. He was still breathing, at least.

I didn't have enough time to race to the exit. Two school security guards appeared by the doors, oblivious by the mess in the gym and the evil band teacher regaining consciousness. Mr. Lyle ordered the guards to apprehend me. Arguing seemed pointless with Mr. Lyle's forehead bruised up and his nose probably broken.

I was dragged out of the gym.

Yep, I was definitely in trouble.

**~0000000~**

At least they didn't handcuff me.

I was more concerned about my inhaler than my foster dad's reaction about what happened, or whatever dire consequences they had in mind for me. But still, this was _really_ bad. I've been sent or escorted to the office a few times before, for fighting other students (verbally and physically), being tardy, or back-talking at teachers.

I definitely did more than just back-talk.

When the adrenaline began to wear off, I was feeling very short of breath. It may have looked like I was sobbing quietly, but I wasn't. I didn't say that I needed my inhaler because it seemed very clear that the security guards were not interested of my excuse.

Mr. Lyle's injuries probably didn't look too bad. His forehead swelled up into large a purple-blue bump, and his nose would stop bleeding, eventually.

I sat in the office, which was very bare from packing, for a little more than ten minutes since the guards shoved me to a chair and searched for the principal. Mr. Lyle was sent to the nurse's office. The principal was probably listening to his side of the story first before she could go to me.

Before I could start having a full-on asthma attack, Mr. Brunner rolled in – literally. He almost looked like he was in a rush to find me.

He approached me and asked, "Are you all right, Troy?"

I nodded silently. He sounded rather anxious. I wasn't expecting another teacher to be worried about me since a few other faculties weren't regarding me as the victim.

Before I could ask how he knew I was here, Mr. Brunner held up a piece of plastic and I recognized the shape and color – my inhaler!

I quickly took my inhaler. I used my time carefully with it, trying not to rush.

Mr. Brunner looked relieved. "I was almost beginning to think it was too late to give it to you," he said. "Now, can we explain to me why there are rumors about a violent incident between you and Mr. Lyle?"

I did my best to answer. I told him about how Mr. Lyle was abusing a student with basketball training, and that I didn't think first when I tried to stop him from continuing to hurt the student.

Trying to say Flynn's name made me hesitate. I didn't include his name at all. I also didn't mention Mr. Lyle's freaky red eyes. Mr. Brunner would've thought I was crazy or something.

When I was done explaining, Mr. Brunner brushed through his scruffy beard thoughtfully, probably trying to rub his chin. Then he kindly stated, "I believe you, Troy. However, you should have reported it to another teacher before rushing in. But still – it was a good thing that you prevent Mr. Lyle from abusing his son any further."

_Whoa – his son?_ I thought with confusion. As I said earlier, I didn't mention Flynn's name. I didn't even _know_ his dad was Mr. Lyle. Flynn wasn't much of a music person.

Soon, the principal, Mrs. Stout, came in the office. She was...well, yeah, she was a stout. I'm not kidding. At first she was kind of pissed off that a student (me) had assaulted a teacher on the last day of school. My social worker was actually called, which made me pretty upset. I was sure Mike would understand, but I felt like I failed him for getting in trouble again.

However, Mrs. Stout was surprised to find Mr. Brunner with me, and Mr. Brunner explained and convinced her with my side of the story about how I tried to help Flynn.

"Okay," the principal concluded. "I can't give you suspension since the school year is over. But Mr. Lyle's injuries..."

"Bart Lyle's own fault, really," Mr. Brunner interrupted kindly. "He injured himself while Mr. Clayton-Tate was defending himself."

Mrs. Stout rubbed the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. She really must've wanted to have her own summer vacation to start soon. "I'll have another word with Bart," she said, then turned to me. "Troy...I can't say what you did is good. But you're not going to be in trouble."

Well, I felt a little better after that. Before Mrs. Stout left, she also told me that she'd already called my foster dad, so that couldn't be helped. I had to face the music someday.

And just when I wanted to believe that things couldn't get stranger, the office door whipped open and a dark-haired girl stepped in.

It was that girl who appeared out of nowhere, Roxanne. She nearly shouted, "It's not his fault!"

I wasn't sure who was more surprised to see her – me or Mr. Brunner. Well, most likely me – who the heck was this girl?!

Roxanne said she had proof of my innocence and she pulled Flynn in the room. The guy looked pretty embarrassed or upset that he was forced to be here by this girl. Flynn looked okay now, despite the light bruise on his forehead. That must've been from the basketball pelting.

Mr. Brunner had to quickly intercept Roxanne. "The matter has already been resolved," he told her. "Troy is safe... for. . . . For Flynn, his mother is on her way to pick him up. You can let go of him now, dear."

I had an uneasy feeling that Brunner was about to say "for now", as in I wouldn't be safe very long. What the hell was that supposed to mean? I don't know – well, I know it means I probably may not be safe for long. _But why wouldn't I be safe?_ I asked myself.

Before Flynn left, he narrowed his eyes at me and Roxanne; although, I think he also mouthed "Thank you" to me.

My foster dad hadn't arrived yet when I got outside. Most of the student body already left. The buses were gone, and the faculty parking lot was nearly empty. So, I sat down on the stone bench out in front of the school building. If I walk back to the house, then my foster dad would get more upset because I couldn't wait. But it was probably a little better than being jumped by more jerks – I said _a little_ _better_.

So, getting bored, I pulled my Rubix cube out of my back and started messing with it, and then out of nowhere, that mystery girl Roxanne sat beside me, with her backpack squeezed between us. She just sat down next to me like I was her old friend – which I'm _not_.

Roxanne gave me a small casual smile and glanced at my cube. "I think you're making it worse," she said.

"What the hell are you trying to do?" I admit, my response was kind of rude. You can't really blame me when this stranger was acting like I knew her.

"Excuse me?" Roxanne asked.

"Who the heck are you? I don't even know who you are!" I said. "You may got the others and Mr. Brunner convinced, but not me."

She scowled at me, obviously upset from my tone. I have that sort of effect on girls – well, some people in general, really.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Roxanne asked, trying to keep her cool.

"It means I don't know who you are – period. Never seen you in class."

"So I was absent the other day," she excused. "Mr. Brunner gave me a chance to take his test. We're not really in the same class period."

It was pretty clever. But anyone could come up with that, I thought. Besides, the name "Roxanne" wasn't in any of the class period attendance rosters when I sign in for class every day.

I didn't point that out to her. Instead, I said, "I never saw you around school until today, in Mr. Brunner's class."

Roxanne narrowed her eyes in a challenging way for a moment, then said, "A lot of students go to this school. You can exactly keep up with everyone. Besides, I heard you have ADHD."

It's true. I have something called ADHD (attention, something-something. I can't remember). I think I implied my lack of focus already. It tends to happen. And what I did in the gym earlier was an example of my impulsiveness. I'm not really bothered by it, but it does annoy me - missing important details, actions before words, etc.

"I recognize almost everyone's faces in my grade," I argued, feeling unconvinced just like her. "And I don't think you're in the yearbook."

"Okay, so I'm a bit camera shy. Gods! Why are you making such a big deal out of it?" She was starting to sound pissed off.

And who the hell says "gods" like that? I was confused when I noticed her say that. She probably didn't notice it herself.

Roxanne inhaled and exhaled slowly once, something like I was told to do when dealing with my temper. "Look, Troy, I'm trying to be nice to you," she said. "If...if Mr. Brunner hadn't been there for you, I could've helped you, too. I forced Flynn to think of a defending statement for you."

Forcing Flynn to do something probably meant Flynn was actually intimidated somehow. I didn't want to ask how.

"Why do you care what happens to me?" I asked cautiously.

Roxanne glanced over her shoulder, as if she was afraid someone (or something) might be watching us. "Because," she started slowly, "I...just want to make sure you're safe. Is it wrong to care for someone's well-being?"

"It's kinda weird when that _someone's_ well-being is a total stranger," I answered. "And what am I being safe from?"

Roxanne hesitated to answer my question for nearly a minute. I couldn't wait very long, so I stood up and...

She grabbed my wrist. "Wait," she said firmly, and sighed. "Look, I'm not supposed to tell you this too soon, but it might be too late if we wait any longer to be completely sure. You need to _try_ to be safe for as long as you can. If you don't, they'll realize you're..."

She couldn't finish her sentence when silver Honda Civic pulled over in front of us. She let go of my wrist and became awkwardly silent, avoiding eye-contact with me.

The Civic belonged to my social worker, Mike Wan, not my foster dad. Boy was I glad to see him! Well, sort of.

I quickly got in the passenger seat without saying good-bye to Roxanne, and Mike started driving. When I glanced at the side mirror, I saw Roxanne watching the car leave, and then Mr. Brunner wheeled over to her side, watching mournfully at me, as if I was heading to my own grave.

* * *

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**And has anyone heard and seen that Oreo commercial song by Owl City? It's so catchy :D**

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